FudgeCake vs. The Unexpendable Thursdays

Let’s talk further about depression…

FudgeCake Vs. The Abominable Mondays introduced us to FudgeCake, a chocolate-based vigilante who begins questioning her heroism after one of her accomplices, Ethan, likened her to him. We were also introduced to depression and how FudgeCake’s whimsical tale is just but a mask used to euphemize what one can go through while in such a state. However, what was not told before was that there is a sequel to the trials that FudgeCake faces.

FudgeCake ventures into the depths of the city of Weekday in search for answers about her true self, and possibly for a true hero who does not save without a price. Before she leaves, she makes sure that her sister, Little TeaScone is left under care, and who better to do the job that Pep-Car ( Peppermint Caramel ) her best friend. Our dear protagonist then departs for the center of Weekday, armed and ready for whatever obstacle that would appear in her way. However, tragedy strikes when she is unable to save one of the mundane humans living in the city. A human boy is taken in front of her while she watches, helpless and in the arms of the mighty Abominable Mondays (a type of policing system under which the city runs, consisting of brain-washed, grey-themed clones).

The sequel begins here, with FudgeCake herself imprisoned. She undergoes ruthless and continual judgement at the hands of the ruling family of Weekday, the Thursdays. They are a pompous bunch, a family of four with Mr. and Mrs. Thursday as the leaders, with young Merci (Mercury) Thursday and her clown of a brother, bodybuilding Jock Thursday, as their heralds. They are always dressed in the brightest and stiffest white, with upturned noses and a glower of disgust as they glare down at the citizens before them during trials. But what scares FudgeCake more than the Thursdays is that while awaiting the final judgement, she comes across a forgotten hero – Mr. Optimum Janus – who is now nothing but a withered, old soul. He tells FudgeCake that vigilantism is but a lost cause because the Thursday’s regime is written in stone. Routine is inevitable, dreams eventually die, and there is no such thing as hope. FudgeCake disbelieves him, but only until the fallen hero explains that all vigilantes were once Abominable Monday. Utterly distraught, she plummets into incredible sadness as the final verdict is announced and she is sentenced to death by dissolution.

If you loved English lessons in high school, then you must know of ‘a story within a story’, a narrative trope used to introduce a new theme within a tale but indirectly. I love the FudgeCake Vs. The World short story already, and I have only just begun understanding the role it plays within The Saga of the Omnists. And this specific article, a follow-up to the first FudgeCake story, will shed more light on the aspect we call depression.

My younger sister is a great researcher. She once told me that people most likely to get depressed have this unique perspective of life that allows them to critically observe everything, and to internalize it so powerfully that it affects their brains and hormonal systems. Their lives begin with the greatest of joys and hopes, eager to run into the world and take it by the horns or embrace it like a lovable pet. But then, the older they grow, the more they realize that life is not that simple. People suffer from poverty, and not always in the monetary sense. There is a great lack of joy and peace in the world but the human race has become so perfect at self-deception that they have hidden their woes behind masks of routines, smiles, video games and superficial films. And what is worse is that this person with such a great heart lands into an abyss of seemingly understanding that the world is too big to fix, which then sends them spiraling into depression.

What is life? They ask themselves. Why is life so complex? Why can’t everyone just lead happy, simple lives?

What, then, do the Thursdays represent? They are everything we believe has already become constant. An 8 to 5 job; a tasteless, boring meal; a corrupt but powerful politician; wearing ugly clothes for the rest of our lives; various systems that make you feel not worthy enough. I had a hard time conforming to Thursdays in my early twenties. I felt like I was suffocating, like the weekend could not come any sooner, like I was given no other choice but to abandon my dreams for something I did not even understand. No, I could not sacrifice my life to a job because it was stable, because it was well-paying, because hakuna kazi huko nje. And that last line – repeated one too many times by the Optimum Januses of the world – became a bell that rang a bit too loud, drowning out the tiny cry of hope that pleaded me to never give up. I hated and I still hate Thursdays – the unexpendable Thursdays – ceaseless days at the peak of which life always seemed wasted and meaningless… a life where I am expected to serve money, chasing after a god that will relent only when I am on my deathbed.

Many depressed people are plagued with such thoughts. Thoughts of drowning in the routine that is mistakenly called life. Of being too helpless to change the world, let alone themselves. Of being nothing at all to anyone, and that no one will ever care because they are too busy drowning in their own misery. What they do not know, I later came to understand, is that there is someone who cares. There is someone who understands their problems because they have been through the same in one way or another. There is someone who wants to help and to be there for them. True, some of them might not understand the full scope of things, but they are getting there. Our sole duty as the sad and melancholic is to open our hearts to them and let them in.

There is a happy ending to FudgeCake Vs. The Unexpendable Thursdays. At its climax, FudgeCake is paraded in front of the elites of the city of Weekday. The Indubitable Tuesdays sneer at her as an Abominable Monday tows her towards the Dissolution Chamber. The Unappeasable Wednesdays, unsatisfied by the torture she had undergone, spit at her face and begin throwing tomatoes at her. Mondays and mundane humans are all around her, watching with curiosity visible on one face and apathy on another. No one wants to help her. No one even pities her. They all just want to watch, the very people she had tried to save.

The Dissolution Chamber is activated. The humongous pot is filled with boiling fluid, and FudgeCake knows she will melt long before the heat reaches her chocolaty bones, long before she is hurled into the Chamber. She closes her eyes, her hands tied at the back, and hopes the pain will be quick, but all is trumped when the execution is interrupted by a distant explosion and a break in.

The Incorrigible Fridays, a rogue group of antiheroes, has come to rescue her.